"No," said Maxwell.
"Was there anything said about her?"
"Yes, there was, last night. But both Grayson and Godolphin regarded it as impossible to get her."
"Why didn't you tell me that they would like to get her?"
"You knew it, already. And I thought, as they both had given up the hope of getting her, I wouldn't mention the subject. It's always been a very disagreeable one."
"Yes." Louise sat quiet, and then she said: "What a long misery your play has been to me!"
"You haven't helped make it any great joy to me," said Maxwell, bitterly.
She began to weep, silently, and he stood looking down at her in utter wretchedness. "Well," he said at last, "what shall I do about it?"
Louise wiped her tears, and cleared up cold, as we say of the weather. She rose, as if to leave the room, and said, haughtily: "You shall do as you think best for yourself. You must let them have the play, and let them choose whom they think best for the part. But you can't expect me to come to see it."
"Then that unsays all the rest. If you don't come to see it, I sha'n't, and I shall not let them have the piece. That is all. Louise," he entreated, after these first desperate words, "can't we grapple with this infernal nightmare, so as to get it into the light, somehow, and see what it really is? How can it matter to you who plays the part? Why do you care whether Miss Pettrell or Mrs. Harley does it?"